


After You

by kingkongbway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingkongbway/pseuds/kingkongbway
Summary: It’s 1868 in a small mining town in Idaho, and Alastor Moody says goodbye to Arthur Weasley before he goes back to Buffalo.(Ballad of Little Jo AU, birthday gift for fanwit)





	After You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fanwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanwit/gifts).



“You know,” Arthur said, a little too quickly at first, but measured at the end, “you could always stay here with me, work at the store.”

Alastor shook his head. He couldn’t possibly explain to Arthur, but he had to go.

Arthur nodded, looked away, and kept wiping at the counter, though Alastor was positive he’d already gotten that spot. Arthur could be strange like that. Molly never seemed to know what Alastor was talking about when he mentioned it, but Arthur always acted just a little inexplicably. Alastor had long since given up on trying to understand the man, and resigned himself to fond observation.

He was going to miss Arthur. New York sounded like his own personal hell now, strange how so much could change in so little time. You could live your whole life in one place, with one name and one identity, but once you’d tried something new, you couldn’t go back. But you would go back. You had to go back.

Alastor sighed. “Train’s due in twenty minutes.”

“Huh. You came in on the twelve o’clock train, too, didn’t you? Must’ve been, because the Prewetts ran into you on the way over for lunch.”

Arthur was right, it had been the twelve o’clock train. What a funny detail for him to remember, Alastor mused. Molly Prewett had taken one look at him and said “Oh, you’re one of those miner fellows, aren’t you?” He’d been ecstatic that she’d immediately read him as a man, given his last experience in Montana City, but he’d just nodded. She’d told him that he probably wouldn’t last long enough to make a decent strike, nothing against him of course, it’s just that conditions were always rough in Idaho and most silver-seekers ran off real fast.

He’d known that, naturally, even though he had bigger plans than getting rich off of silver. He hadn’t come all the way from Buffalo without doing his research. He’d felt more prepared for the western frontier than he ever had life in New York. But when she’d asked him his name, he’d realized he’d completely forgotten to think of one; he hadn’t used one in Montana City. On the spot, the only name that came to him was ‘Alastor.’ Something his mother used to call him, before she died, a Christian term for an evil spirit. Also, as he’d learned as a teen to keep his chin up, a creature of vengeance, an avenger. That definition spoke to him more than anything. It was fitting, given his mission.  
Molly had nodded and invited him to lunch.

Alastor was glad to have her and the Prewetts, because he hadn’t even known where to start. Gideon, who was working in the mines at the time, had been able to show Alastor how to apply and helped get him settled. Fabian had shown him around town, and Alastor had realized just how outdated the maps he was studying from were, the Black home was easier to get to than he imagined. Molly had made sure he was never cold in the Idaho winter (apparently she was big on knitting, which he’d at first been suspicious of, but which had quickly grown on him). And, of course, they’d introduced him to Arthur Weasley.

Arthur, Arthur… Arthur, who owned the general store, who wrote Alastor letters even though they’d see each other in person, who always offered him food when he was around even though he’d declined the first hundred times, who… who was the reason Alastor had to go.

Arthur looked up at him with that dumb look he got sometimes, smiles and red hair and freckles and kind gentleness like Alastor had never seen before arriving in Silver City. “I can’t believe it’s only been a year. Honest, I feel like you’ve changed my life, Al. I’m not sure how, but…” He shook his head and laughed. “Sounds like something Molly would say, but I mean it. It’s like after you’re gone everything’s going to be the same, but nothing’s going to be the same, if you follow.”

Alastor nodded, breathed, and took a step back. This was harder than he thought it would be. _Don’t cry in front of Arthur,_ he half-reminded, half-reprimanded himself. He should’ve known, of course, should’ve known he couldn’t leave Arthur just like that. They only saw each other once or twice a week, sometimes less, as many times as Alastor could get the mine superintendent to let him come down to the city for supplies, but it was enough that Alastor constantly thought about giving up on all his plans, giving up on revenge, and coming to work with Arthur instead. His throat was tight already.

Arthur straightened abruptly and gestured to the back. “Forgot, I’ve got a delivery to move. Special order for the Malfoys, believe it or not. Never thought I’d see the day Lucius Malfoy asked me for anything.”

“And—” Alastor coughed, then arched his back confidently. He just had to stay strong and not embarrass himself in front of Arthur for fifteen more minutes, then he’d be on his way back to the East. “And you want me to help you move it, huh?”

Arthur laughed. His face turned sheepish. “Am I that obvious?”

“I can see right through you.” Alastor couldn’t help but smile, just a bit. Arthur was a terrible, terrible liar, and a strange man, and a little dumb sometimes, but he was like a beacon of positivity.

“It’s just that you’ve got those mining muscles, and I’ve got… Well, all I’ve got is no idea what I’ll do after you leave. I guess my heavy packages will just stay in the back. The customers’ll have to get them themselves, I s’pose.”

Alastor made his way back there and picked up the package. It _was_ pretty heavy. What was Malfoy even ordering? Especially if it was something he couldn’t get from anyone other than Arthur? Malfoy was a sketchy character, it made him nervous. Maybe it was a better idea to stay, just so he could ensure everyone’s safety. But that was just an excuse and he knew it, if he wasn’t staying for Black, if he wasn’t staying for his mission, for _vengeance,_ then why would he—

The box nearly slipped out of his grip. Quick instincts let him readjust and save the situation, but Arthur was soon right behind him regardless. _Right_ behind him. “You good?” Arthur’s fingers ghosted his, ready to take the box if need be, though Alastor was certain he couldn’t lift it.

“I’m fine,” Alastor said through suddenly gritted teeth. Arthur smelled so nice. Arthur was so, so close. Alastor had to get the hell out of Silver City.

“Okay. Just be careful, there.”

Careful. Like Alastor would ever be anything but careful. He’d been nothing but careful since he arrived in Silver City. He kept to himself, he slept outside for the most part instead of sharing a room with other miners, he never said a word against anyone, he stayed courteous without seeming like a target. Most importantly, he kept an eye on Black.

If the plan was to work, he couldn’t lose him. He’d come fuming across the country for revenge after sleuthing out that it was Black that had orchestrated his mother’s death, and he was going to be careful not to lose everything right at the end.

He’d already lost his leg in Montana City, after all. He hadn’t been careful enough there, and Cygnus Black (the other Cygnus Black, not the one in Silver City, he’d gone all that way and tracked down the wrong damn Cygnus, the Blacks needed to get more creative with names) had caught on that he had less-than-pure intentions. That had gone from bad to worse after the doctors looked at him because the doctors had told the whole town that he was a woman in disguise, and even all the Chinese workers building the railroad who mostly couldn’t even speak English looked at him differently.

But he’d been careful since. He’d had no intention of letting this Cygnus slip out of his grasp. And now he was leaving, no revenge wreaked, no Blacks killed.  
He put the package down on the dolly that Arthur indicated and checked the time. Arthur synchronized the time with the train station every morning, ostensibly for the convenience of his customers. (Gideon had once told him that it was actually because he wanted to walk by their house and see Molly every day, Alastor had just gritted his teeth, shrugged and pointed out that it made his movements very predictable and therefore made him an easy target. Gideon had laughed and said he was strange.)

It was almost time for the train. This hadn’t gotten any easier in the past few minutes. But he had to say goodbye, because he had to leave, and he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Maybe he could handle leaving with his mission, what he’d once viewed as his life’s sole purpose, unfinished, but he couldn’t leave without a goodbye.

“Thanks, Al. I, uh… I guess you’d best be going, huh?”

Alastor nodded.

“Yeah. Don’t want to miss your train.” Arthur leaned against the counter and avoided eye contact.

There was so much Alastor wanted to tell him. Not just things about the two of them, parting messages, but all the stories, every secret he’d been keeping locked up inside for years. But he couldn’t. That wasn’t an option. He was giving up on his mission, and he was giving up on Arthur Weasley.

Arthur looked at him with that same look he’d had after the shoot-out with the robbers, which felt like a lifetime ago all of a sudden. “Promise you’ll write?”

“I will.” He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He tried to keep his eyes dry.

“Alright. Well… I’ll miss you, Al. This place won’t be the same without you.” He walked over and clapped a hand on Alastor’s shoulder, a masculine and distant move that was uncharacteristic of him. “But, uh, remember… My offer for you to work here still stands. I’ve got room on the front for another name, even, if you… I’ll—we’ll always be here for you, me and the Prewetts and everyone.”

Alastor tried to speak but found his body uncooperative. He wished he could explain to Arthur that he could never come back.

He was leaving because he had done two very dumb things, as careful as he’d been. One, he’d realized he wasn’t really in disguise, something his mother had figured out years and years before him, what made him a _damned alastor._ Two, he’d fallen in love.

And that couldn’t be his reality.

So he was running back to Buffalo to sacrifice himself to a life of dissatisfaction.

Because maybe Alastor Moody was strong and stood his ground, but Alastor Moody was a fiction.

He battled against his throat and managed a few words. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Uh, actually, me and Molly… Well, Gideon and Fabian have been trying to get me to run and propose to her. If that… If that happens, you’ll come to the wedding, won’t you? I’m sure we could help pay to get you out of here.”

Alastor took a deep breath to clear his mind, though he felt closer and closer to crying. “You don’t sound too confident about getting engaged.”

“Well… Truth be told, I’ve never been all that interested in marrying Molly. She’s just very persistent, I mean, you know her.”

“She is. Is that why you don’t like her?”

“I do like her! It’s just… I, uh, was always holding out hope for somebody else.”

Thank goodness he was leaving. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Arthur with someone, getting married to someone. “I’m sure she’s a lucky lady.”

“Not the kind I've got a shot with.” Arthur gave a forced sort of smile and shrugged. “So, Molly Prewett. Well, maybe Molly Weasley. How’s that sound, huh?”

“Sounds great. I wouldn’t miss the wedding for the world,” Alastor lied.

Arthur nodded and stepped away. He gestured to the door. “Sorry, I’ve kept you too long. Guess I’m the selfish sort. Don’t want you to miss your train. Goodbye, Al.”

“Goodbye.”

Alastor walked out of the general store. It was the fifth time that week. It was the last time ever. He didn’t look back.

He got on the train, with a feeling as heavy as those packages Arthur couldn’t lift. He sat in a cabin by himself. He needed to be alone. He had an ancient dress in his case, that belonged to someone else, he was sure, a damned alastor from Buffalo set on revenge, and he’d folded it up so small that it barely took up any space at all. He had all the letters his aunt had sent him that he’d never opened. And he had a long way back to Buffalo.


End file.
